Читать книгу The Flight of the Heron - Historical Novel - Страница 12

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It was not difficult to find Captain Windham by the loch, for the delicate veils of birch foliage made no effective screen for his strong scarlet. Alison saw him, therefore, before he was aware of her presence. He was sitting a yard or two from the edge of Loch na h-Iolaire, on the stump of a felled pine, with his arms folded on his breast, staring at the water. Was he thinking of yesterday—meditating some revenge? She would never know, because she dared not refer, even indirectly, to that unlucky contretemps. The buttons were in her pocket only for safe keeping.

Alison came very slowly along the ribbon of track through the heather, her eyes fixed on the soldier’s unconscious figure. Ewen’s destiny in his hands! No, Angus had not said that exactly. Nor had Angus said that he was an enemy; on the contrary, he was to render Ewen a great service. . . . Technical enemy of course he was. She had his profile now, clear against a reddish pine-trunk; he looked rather sad. He was an enigma, neither friend nor enemy, and she would find out nothing, do no good . . . and wished she had not come.

Then the best was to turn and go back again. No, it was too late for that now. At that very moment Captain Windham must have heard her step, for he turned his head, sprang up, and, uncovering, came towards her between the pines.

“Pray do not let me drive Miss Grant away,” he said civilly.

“I . . . I fear I disturb you, sir,” said Miss Grant, really discomposed.

“Disturb me! But I was not asleep, I assure you, and in breaking into my meditations you may have been doing me a service.”

He smiled a little as he said it, but Alison looked at him warily, wondering what he meant by that remark. Here they were, alone together, and neither could see what was uppermost in the other’s mind. He did not know that strange thing prophesied of him, linking him to an enemy, nor could she in the least read what were his feelings with regard to Ewen, although it was a matter which concerned her so vitally. But, notwithstanding that she had a moment ago turned away like a coward from this interview, now she resolved to pursue it. Surely her wits could point out some road by which she might arrive at Captain Windham’s real sentiments?

Quite close to her was another convenient pine-stump, so she sank down upon it murmuring something about resting for a moment. Captain Windham stood beside her, his hands behind his back and his head bent, and before she had settled upon her own line of attack startled her by saying slowly, and even a trifle hesitatingly, that he had for the last hour been greatly wishing for the privilege of a few minutes’ conversation with her.

Considerably surprised at this reversal of parts, Alison glanced up at him. Was this remark a prelude to compliments or gallantry of some kind? No; Captain Windham’s manner quite disposed of that idea. Yet he said again, gravely, “I desire to ask a favour of you, Miss Grant.”

“Pray ask it, sir,” replied Alison, just a little stiffly.

There was a moment’s pause. “I believe that Mr. Cameron—Ardroy, I suppose I should say—has ridden off to see his Chief, has he not?” said the soldier.

“Yes,” said Alison, still less encouragingly.

“And by this time to-morrow——” Captain Windham left the sentence unfinished, and, to her surprise, walked away from her with bent head and stood at a little distance carefully pushing two or three fallen pine-cones together with his foot. Finally he stooped, picked one up, and came back, twirling it in his fingers.

“Miss Grant,” he said, studying it with apparent absorption, “I wish that I could make Ardroy some return for his generous treatment of me. This is not a mere figure of speech; I am in complete earnest. But the only return that I can make he would never take at my hands.” He raised his eyes and looked at her musingly. “What I wonder is, whether he would take it at yours.”

“What do you mean, sir?” asked Alison, lifting her head a trifle haughtily. Surely he was not going to offer Ewen money! She must prevent that at all costs, or Heaven knew what might happen!

Captain Windham threw away the fir-cone. “Will you believe, Miss Grant, that in what I am going to say I speak as a friend might (though I dare not presume to call myself one) and that I have but one aim in speaking—Mr. Cameron’s good and yours?”

Alison met his eyes, and they convinced her of his sincerity. She had scarcely time to be amazed. “Yes, I do believe it,” she said in a softened tone. “Please say what you wish, Captain Windham.”

“Then let me ask you,” said the Englishman earnestly, “whether you and Ardroy realise on what a hopeless adventure he is embarking? Is it possible that, on the strength of having captured two wretched companies of raw recruits—for indeed they were no more than that—the clans of these parts think that they will be able to defy the whole military force of the Crown? Yes, Miss Grant, it is advice that I should like to give Mr. Cameron, if he would only take it. Cannot you use your interest with him? Forgive me if I trespass on delicate ground, but . . . this is to be your home together, is it not? Think again before you let him stake it on so hazardous a throw! You know what happens to the property of a declared rebel. And he stakes more than his property, Miss Grant!”

His voice was very grave. Alison, who had heard him through, answered firmly, “Yes, I know that.” But the lovely colour was gone from her cheeks, and her hands were holding each other tightly.

“It is not too late, even now,” urged her companion. “If I choose to suppress the fact that I was brought here as Mr. Cameron’s prisoner, who is to gainsay my assertion that I came as a guest? Only keep him back from this crazy rendezvous to-morrow, which can but herald disaster, and he may be able——”

“Keep him back!” exclaimed Alison. She had got up from her tree-stump. “Do you suppose that I could? Do you suppose that if I could, I would?” Her voice trembled a little.

“But, Miss Grant, consider! If this young man, this Prince of yours, had come with an army——”

“Then it would have been safe to declare for him!” broke in Alison, and her dark eyes flashed. “Oh, if that is the English way of thinking, it is not the Highland! Because he comes alone, and trusts himself to us, is not that the best of reasons why we should follow him who has the right, Captain Windham, and who may yet prove to have the might also?”

There was a short silence between them. On the other side of the loch a curlew uttered its plaintive, liquid cry. Captain Windham drew himself up a little.

“If you feel thus about the matter, Miss Grant,” he said rather dryly, “there is no more to be said. I see that you will not take my offering. The best I can wish you, then, is that the affair may burn itself out as quickly as possible, for the longer it lasts the more victims there are likely to be . . . afterwards. And I would give much, believe me, to know that Mr. Cameron of Ardroy will not be among them.”

Alison held out her hand impulsively. And she had been thinking that he was brooding on revenge! “I thank you for those words, sir,” she said with great sweetness, “because I believe that you mean them. But, though I shall not easily forget your kindness, it is—forgive me—useless to discuss the matter further.”

Captain Windham kissed her hand in silence, and offered her his arm back to the house, if she were returning thither. Alison took it readily enough, and as they left the loch, conversing on indifferent topics, she had time to taste the surprise and relief which had come to her there. If Fate’s chosen instrument—supposing he were really that—were so well disposed towards Ewen, how could he in the future be used against him?

And yet, later in the evening, waiting for Ewen’s return, she found that, unreasonably perhaps, she disliked Captain Windham’s presumption that she could, if she tried, influence her lover to betray his convictions even more than the supposition that she could be induced to try. She felt that the soldier understood neither Highlanders nor Jacobites. But for his kindly and even generous intentions she had nothing but gratitude.

* * * * *

As for Keith Windham, whose meditations by Loch na h-Iolaire had moved him to an effort which surprised him, he told himself that he had never expected any other result. They were all blinded and besotted, these Jacobites. He wondered whether Miss Grant would tell her betrothed of his attempt. With Ardroy himself he naturally should not think of expostulating; to do so would be mere waste of breath.

There was no Ardroy at supper, though it appeared that he was expected back at any moment, and Keith shortly afterwards excused himself and withdrew to his own bedchamber, having no wish to be an intruder on the lovers’ last hours together, rebels though they were. But it was too early to go to bed, so once more he pulled a couple of books at random from the shelf on the wall, and settled down by the window to read. One of them he opened before he realised what it was, and found himself staring at ‘Most heartily do we beseech Thee with Thy favour to behold our most gracious Sovereign Lord King——’ but ‘James’ had been neatly pasted over the ‘George’.

Captain Windham smiled. He held in his hand the Book of Common Prayer as used and amended by the nonjuring Episcopalian Jacobites, and saw with his own eyes the treason to which his ears might have listened earlier in the day. For though, on rising, he had forgotten that it was Sunday, this was a fact of which he had not long been suffered to remain ignorant, since after breakfast Miss Cameron had said to him in matter-of-fact tones—they were alone for the moment: “I doubt you will wish to attend Morning Prayer with us, Captain Windham, even if you be an Episcopalian, like most of the English, for I must not disguise from you that we pray, not for King George, but for King James.”

“ ‘Morning Prayer,’ ” Keith had stammered. “Is—do you—I had thought that you were all Presbyterians hereabouts . . . or Papists,” he added, suddenly remembering the old woman on Friday.

“Ah, not at all,” replied Miss Cameron composedly. “The MacDonalds of the mainland and the most of the Frasers indeed are Papists, but we Camerons are Episcopalians, and so are our neighbours, the Stewarts of Appin. But we can get to kirk but rarely, and to-day in especial, being, as you will understand, somewhat throng, we shall be obliged to worship at home.”

“And who——”

“Why, my nephew the laird, naturally,” replied Miss Cameron. “Though as Mr. Grant is with us, ’tis possible he may read the service to-day.”

“Leaving your nephew free to preach, no doubt?” suggested Keith, trying to control a twitch of the lip.

“Now you are laughing at us, sir,” observed Miss Cameron shrewdly, but with perfect good humour. “No, Ardroy does not preach. But I have the habit of reading a sermon to myself of a Sunday afternoon, and if you scoff any more ’tis likely the same exercise would benefit you, and I’ll be happy to lend you a volume of some English divine—Bishop Jeremy Taylor, for instance.”

Keith bowed and gravely assured her that if she saw fit to do this he would duly read a homily. But he had gone out into the garden smiling to himself. That model young man—he could not be more than five- or six-and-twenty—reading the Church service every Sunday to his household! He thought of the young men of his acquaintance in the army or in the fashionable world of London, the careless, loose-living subalterns, the young beaux of White’s. Ye gods, what ribald laughter would have gone up at the tale! . . . Yes, but not one of those potential mockers could have beaten Ardroy in stature or looks or at swordplay. Keith would not forget Loch Oich side in a hurry.

But he had not attended Morning Prayer.

Now he was rather wishing that he had done so, for he supposed that he would never again have the chance of seeing a young man who could fight in that style acting as chaplain. But perhaps Mr. Grant had superseded him; Keith had not enquired. At any rate Ewen Cameron was not engaged on particularly prayerful business at this moment, over at his Chief’s house, nor would he be on his knees to-morrow. Afterwards . . . well, it was likely that his relatives would have need to pray for him!

He turned over the Prayer Book idly, and it opened next at the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, and the words of the Gospel leapt at him: ‘Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my Name’s sake . . .’

Though not much of a churchgoer himself, Captain Windham was shocked at the analogy which occurred to him, and closing the Prayer Book hastily, fell to wondering what was going to be done with him to-morrow; also, whose hand had retrieved and laid upon his dressing-table the two missing buttons from his uniform which he had found there a short while ago.

It was nearly ten o’clock when he heard the beat of hoofs. They stopped in front of the porch, but he did not look out. Someone dismounted, then Keith heard Miss Grant’s voice, with her heart in it: “Ewen, you are come at last; it has been a long evening!”

“And will be a short night, Alison,” came the half-exultant reply. “We march at daybreak for Glenfinnan.” And from the sudden silence Keith guessed that the girl was in her lover’s arms. He moved away from the window and began to pace up and down. So there was to be no holding back. Ah, what a pity, what a pity!

Half an hour later he was back in his old place reading, but with a lighted candle at his elbow now, when there was a knock, and Ardroy himself came in, a big branched candlestick in his hand.

“You are not abed, Captain Windham! I must apologise, none the less, for so late a visit.”

There was a kind of suppressed elation about him, and his eyes were as blue as the sea.

“Your Highland nights are so light,” returned Keith, as he rose to his feet, “that it is hard to believe it late.” Why should he, who cared for no human being, feel regret that this young man was going to destruction?

“My excuse,” went on Ewen, setting down the light he carried, “is that I leave this house again in a few hours, and must speak with you first on a matter that concerns you.”

“You will be setting out for—the rendezvous of which you told me?”

“Yes. And before I go——”

“Mr. Cameron,” broke in the Englishman, “you gave me a warning yesterday to which I should have done to well listen. I suppose it is too much to hope that, at this eleventh hour, you will listen to one from me?”

As he said it he knew that he was a fool for his pains; that his words, uttered on that astonishing impulse, so contrary to his intention, were as useless as the little puff of air which at that moment entered by the open window and set the candles a-quiver. And over the bending flames the Highlander, looking very tall, gazed at him straight and unyieldingly.

“You are too kind, Captain Windham. But if the matter of your warning be what I suppose, you must forgive me for saying that you would only be wasting your time.” His tone was courteous but very cold.

Keith shrugged his shoulders. After all, if a man would rush on his doom it was his own affair. “My time is far from valuable at present,” he replied flippantly, “but yours no doubt is precious, Mr. Cameron. On what matter did you wish to speak to me?”

“I have come to tell you from my Chief, Lochiel, that you are free from to-morrow—on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“That you engage not to bear arms against the Prince for the remainder of the campaign. Lochiel will accept an assurance given to me.”

“ ‘For the remainder of the campaign’!” exclaimed Keith rather indignantly. “An impossible condition, on my soul!” He gave a short laugh. “It is true that your ‘campaign’ is not like to be of long duration!”

Ewen ignored the sneer. “You cannot tell, sir,” he replied gravely. “But those are the terms which I am to offer you. Captain Scott has accepted them, and has to-day gone to Fort William to have his wound cared for.”

“Precisely,” retorted Keith. “Captain Scott is wounded; I am not.” There was still indignation in his voice; nevertheless he was thinking that if he accepted the offer he would be able to leave the Highlands and return to Flanders and real warfare. It was a temptation. But some deep-rooted soldierly instinct revolted.

He shook his head. “My sword is the King’s, and I cannot enter into an indefinite engagement not to use it against his enemies. Indeed it is fully time that I should ask you, Mr. Cameron, to restore me the parole of honour which I gave you. I should prefer henceforward to be your prisoner upon ordinary terms.”

But at this his gaoler seemed taken aback. “I fear that is impossible at present, sir,” he replied with some hesitation. “If I left you behind here there would be no one to guard you. As you will not accept your freedom on the condition which is offered you, I have no choice but to take you with me to-morrow—still on parole, if you please,” he added, looking his captive straight in the face.

“I have requested you to give me back my parole, Mr. Cameron!”

“And I have already said that I cannot do so, Captain Windham!”

Once more they were facing each other across the candle-flames. Keith began to feel annoyance.

“Am I then to go ranging the mountains with you for ever? You will find me a great nuisance, Mr. Cameron.” (Mr. Cameron looked at that moment as if he shared this opinion.) “But perhaps this is your way of forcing Lochiel’s offer on me, for, by Gad, that is what it comes to!”

“No, no,” said Ewen hastily, and with a frown. “I had no such intention. I will consult Lochiel again about the matter to-morrow, and——”

“Can’t you do anything on your own responsibility, Mr. Cameron of Ardroy? Must you always consult your Chief?”

He had goaded him at last. Ardroy’s head went up. “Had you not a commanding officer in your regiment, Captain Windham?” he enquired haughtily.

“Touché!” said Keith, with good humour. (It was a mutual hit, though.) He liked to see his civilised young barbarian on the high horse. “But suppose, Mr. Cameron, that I do not choose to wait so long, and tell you frankly that, if you will not restore my parole to me, I shall myself withdraw it from midnight to-night?”

“In that case,” said the barbarian with great promptitude, “I shall put two of my gillies in here with you, lock the door and sleep across it myself. . . . Do you tell me that you withdraw it?”

There was a second or two’s silence while Keith envisaged himself thus spending the remainder of the night. It was on the tip of his tongue to enquire whether the amiable Lachlan would be one of his guards, but he suppressed the query. “No,” he said with a little grimace, “you may keep my parole and I will keep my privacy. Let us hope that your ‘commanding officer’s’ wisdom will be able to cut the knot to-morrow. I am to be ready, then, to accompany you at daybreak?”

“If you please,” said Ardroy stiffly. “I am sorry that I can do nothing else. Good night.” He took up the candlestick and stalked out.

Captain Keith Windham remained staring for a moment at the closed door and then began to smile rather ruefully. “A droll captivity, ’pon my honour! Had I known that I was to be trailed about in this fashion my attempt at warning might have been less disinterested than it was. But I shall not make another.”